Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) (6 page)

“To fortitude, strength, and courage!” came Hillary’s toast. I felt like I was off to war, and for all of ten seconds, I wondered if I should stay home.

Kathleen, somewhere in the background, was teasing Marian about her one-night stand. “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all—unless, of course, you get a nasty disease!” With much shouting, laughing, and begging for forgiveness, I rinsed off other missed bits of mud and kelp. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, I was going in. Or out, in this case.

The chances of finding Des were infinitesimal, but a girl had to try. While no part of me believed that Des Bannerman was searching Chamonix for me, I admitted to myself that I would love to run into him and find out what he (and Brynn) had made of all the commotion. So I continued to adorn myself with creams, perfume, and makeup. After carefully styling my hair and finally getting some control of it, I addressed my wardrobe. I chose to wear snug jeans with rhinestones up the sides, a white cashmere sweater, a white knee-length down jacket with fur trim, and very high-heeled black boots.

Everyone but Tiziana was waiting downstairs, dressed to go dancing: dresses, high heels, and spangles.

“What are you wearing? You look more like someone who’s going to a party than spying,” I said, quizzically.

“Everyone will be dressed for a party. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb! Go change your clothes!” Marian harangued me.

After thinking it over for a moment, I suggested, “You go cover the clubs and discos. I’m going to try to figure out where a celebrity might go if he was trying to escape the press, reassure his girlfriend, and avoid the public in general. There have to be a few quiet, out-of-the-way places. We’ll figure somewhere to meet up. How does that sound?”

Just at that moment, Tiziana descended the stairs in the same clothes as earlier. “Really? You aren’t going? I need you! What if Ted’s with him? Who will clear the way?”

“I’m going to spend the evening by myself in front of this lovely fire. You don’t need me. I’m certain Ted won’t be with Des tonight. Would you want to be the third in that threesome? No, darling! Your Des is definitely alone with whatever-her-name-is tonight. If you want his attention, and he wants to give it, you need to be by yourself.”

I weighed her advice for a second and then whined, “I need backup! Please, please come!”

“Darling, you don’t! I’m sure you can handle this,” she said with finality.

Unhappy, but knowing that Tiziana just couldn’t understand that mere mortal women didn’t possess her charisma and charms, I accepted that I would have to go alone.

In town, Marian pulled off rue Joseph Vallot and headed a short distance down the side road. There, a horde of people dressed to kill were standing out in front of La Cantina. It was one of the many nightclubs in town and currently one of the favorites. Sitting in the warm car, I asked where they were headed. After a few minutes of heavy debate, the decision was to go to the casino. I argued that it was completely unlikely that Des and Brynn would return to the scene of the crime. In the end, I surrendered, realizing they were probably hoping to meet up with the men they’d met the previous evening.

Once there, I told them I was going to look elsewhere and would take a cab back to the chalet. Before going our separate ways, I admonished Marian about going off with a stranger and leaving the others stranded.

“He wasn’t strange. He was quite lovely, actually!” She waggled her brows.

“Well, just be careful. Remember to call me if you see Des!” My nerves were clearly getting to me.

“Actually, I was thinking of having a go with him tonight, since you were such a dismal failure last night,” Marian teased.

“Not even you can handle two men, Marian,” I retorted.

“I believe that’s why God gave me two hands,” she shouted out the window as she pulled the car into traffic.

I was alone on the streets of Chamonix, which teemed with couples, groups of friends, and the odd individual carrying shopping bags. I supposed it was too much to hope that Des would be standing there waiting for me.

I made my way across the slushy, snowy street in my impractical boots to a newspaper shop. I was about to open the door when I spied a magazine stand just outside the door. “Oh my god!” I said to myself. Every tabloid magazine and a few newspapers had pictures of Des and me on the cover.
Des Gets a Hand!
was one headline.
Heads or Tails
? was another.

Gross!
Thank god Mom wasn’t here to read any of it. She’d be mortified
, I thought. The image of my mother holding a hand in front of her eyes as she said, over and over, “You used to be such a good girl, Charlotte!”

I carefully entered the shop and kept my head down, wanting to go unrecognized. I pretended to look at everything from the knee down. Considering how short I was, that was pretty tricky. My options were limited to more tabloids, adult magazines, candy, and random household products. After being in there for five minutes and not having anyone shout my name (my name had somehow been made known to the paparazzi; by the coat check girl at the casino was my guess), I approached the man behind the counter. In very poor French, I asked where a person looking for a quiet evening might go. He regarded me curiously and shrugged his shoulders.
So much for that
, I thought.

I went back out into the cold night air and contemplated where to go. Making the random decision to head back down rue Joseph Vallot, I turned around and barreled into a man whose arms were full of packages. After apologizing, half in English and half in French, I offered up my biggest smile. He just stared at me quizzically.

Taking a deep breath, I inquired in very broken French where one could spend a quiet evening. As only the French could, with a leer and a sneer, in heavily accented English, I was informed that in a resort town there weren’t many choices for a woman alone, but there was a cinema. However, he told me, there would be little point in attending, since I wouldn’t possibly understand a word—the movies were French.

I thanked him for his evaluation of my linguistic skills and risked asking for directions. He walked me outside and pointed at the cupola atop the only church in town. Quickly, I set off in the direction he had pointed to, wondering why we hadn’t gone to Germany instead.

After inquiring with a few English-speaking tourists along the way, I finally found the cinema. I stepped inside and escaped the sounds of the surrounding nightlife. After a quick glance, I concluded that Des wasn’t waiting for me with a box of popcorn.

It took me about ten seconds alone in the lobby to realize that what I was endeavoring was based on the fluff of teenage girls’ fantasies.

“What the hell,” I mumbled under my breath. I bought a ticket for a movie that I had never heard of and wouldn’t be able to understand called
The Holiday
, starring Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet
.
Entering the theatre, which was decorated in crushed red velvet, I immediately breathed in the smell of cigarettes and perfume. They lingered in the air, instead of the scent of popcorn. I quite liked it. “Maybe the French aren’t so bad after all,” I quietly declared.

I sat down, took off my jacket, and settled in for my two-hour French lesson.

Hollywood had once again manufactured the perfect balance of conflict, resolution, true love, and friendship.

If only I could do that
I thought, as I wandered back into the lobby, pulling on my jacket and gloves. Who would I start with? Kathleen and her Prince? Hillary and her polo-playing millionaire? Or Marian and her rugby-playing… rugby player? Tiziana would never need help.

In the foyer after it ended, I was thinking of whether to call it a night or go elsewhere when I was confronted by a horrific sight. Brynn Roberts was blocking my exit path, and her lips were curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, they bore the look of utter irritation.

“I have no idea how you knew we would be here, but this is going to stop. Des has explained to me what didn’t happen last night. He truly believes that you’re just being friendly. But I know! Every simple-minded girl out there looking for a free ride would be stupid not to pursue him. I’m giving you this last chance, and if you don’t go now, I’ll call the police! Have I made myself clear?” She shot her angry words at me so quickly that I barely had time to absorb them.

I was trying to formulate a response when Des himself stepped out from behind a door. His warm smile met his eyes, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

“Ah, Charlotte, lovely to see you again. Listen, I’m dreadfully sorry if last night’s events proved stressful. I know the first few hundred times it happened to me, it was overwhelming. I heard the paparazzi surrounded your home and followed you to a spa. I trust you didn’t let it ruin your day. Brynn insisted on staying home. Ted and I skied up at the top. An excellent day, as the snow was perfect, and the paparazzi were helplessly left behind.” He paused, and his voice switched to one more conspiratorial. In a whisper, he continued, “Just so you know, I’ve double-checked, and my zipper is definitely up! So, we shouldn’t have that issue tonight.”

At this, Brynn’s eyebrows shot up, and she gave me a look that completely expressed her lack of appreciation for what had happened the evening before.

Noting this himself, Des quickly changed the subject. “Did you enjoy the film?”

Deciding not to be intimidated by Brynn and make it clear that I wasn’t a simple-minded groupie, I jokingly said, “Don’t worry about the paparazzi! We rarely find ourselves being pursued relentlessly, so we enjoyed our fifteen minutes of fame. By the time we headed home, the paparazzi were gone.”

“They probably left you in search of Des,” Brynn replied quickly. “They don’t give up that easily. Des and I would appreciate it if you would just distance yourself. Let the paparazzi find other fodder,” she demanded boldly, wearing another smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Draping an arm around Brynn’s shoulders, Des gave her a concerned look and quietly rebuked her. “Charlotte has been quite gracious about the whole thing, really. It was my oversight that got us into this, but it’s her name and face being bandied about. Let’s not forget those vulgar headlines. Try to imagine how you would feel if your friends and family saw that!” Brynn turned a deep shade of purple, her anger at his rebuke palpable.

Ignoring his girlfriend’s irritation, he went on, “Cameron Diaz is in remarkable shape. Did you see her run in those heels? I’m not ashamed to admit that when I found out she was to be the leading lady in
Love What We Have
, I got in great shape. Those scenes where she throws a punch, she really knows how!” We talked about the movie briefly before he sensed Brynn hadn’t joined in.

He withdrew his arm from around her shoulders, kindly took my hand, and said, “Charlotte, it was indeed a pleasure. We’re off to find a quiet drink somewhere obscure. Thanks for being so understanding about all of this. We hope that the rest of your holiday is enjoyable. Goodnight.”

“Night,” I replied. Des nodded while gently ushering the lovely Ms. Roberts out a side door and into the night.

I turned and walked out the front doors, feeling, well, sad. My girlish dreams had led me down a ridiculous path, and now, the woman in me felt foolish for my behavior.

“Impulse control, Charlotte,” I said to myself. Just then, a car passed through the intersection. From the backseat, Des Bannerman smiled and waved, and then he winked. My eyes followed the taillights of his car until they disappeared from view.

What did the wink mean?

***

When I returned to the chalet, Tiziana was indeed curled up in front of the fire with a dreamy look on her face. She was talking on the telephone. “Gianni?” I mouthed to her. She smiled and waved, so I disappeared upstairs to get ready for bed.

As I was changing into warm pajamas and removing my makeup, I continued to lecture myself on appropriate behavior. It was one thing to daydream and quite another to take action. “Some kind of silly Cinderella complex or something,” I said, as I heaved a sigh and made my way downstairs.

As I entered the living room, Tiziana was ending her phone call. “Ciao, bello.” With a giggle into the phone, she was finished. “So, tell me, did you find your man?”

I told her about the tabloids, the movie, and running into Brynn and Des. She quietly listened while I recounted all the details.

“Odd, though, as I was about to cross the road, his car passed me, and he smiled and winked at me. What do you think?”

“He winked? Darling, he’s flirting with you!” Forgetting the lecture I’d just given myself, I allowed her to pull me into fantasies of a romance with Des. We concocted future trips to luxurious places on private planes, drifting on yachts, parading at the BAFTAs.

Fantasyland returned to reality when Kathleen, Marian, and Hillary returned. “Why so early?” I asked.

“It turns out that David isn’t as good-looking or interesting when I’m sober,” Marian began.

“I didn’t meet anyone interesting either. My heart isn’t in it,” Kathleen replied.

“It just seemed easier to come back and have a glass of wine here! Anyway, how did it go? Did you find him?” Hillary asked.

I gave them the details. They were supportive in their immediate dislike of Brynn Roberts. “Who does she think she is?” Kathleen asked, the rest nodding in support.

We veered into, “He doesn’t know what he’s missing” statements. All in all, I had very supportive friends.

“Well, are we on for a day of skiing tomorrow? We only have a few days left, and I’d like to ski at least once more,” I asked, surveying the group. The scantily-clad, sleepy women with wine slowly raised their hands to vote. “Okay, off to bed, everyone! We’ll be on the slopes right after breakfast.” I took their wine glasses to the kitchen and myself to bed.

In the morning, I woke up with a headache, feeling completely tired. I had dreamt of Ms. Roberts’s unfriendly eyes and people mocking me while I wore a Cinderella gown. I stared at the ceiling and berated myself for last night’s fantasy session with Tiziana. “Des Bannerman barely knows you’re alive. Grow up!” I admonished myself.